


For Betty Cooper, Whenever I May Find Her

by shingekinoboyfriends



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Catholic School, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-15 15:32:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13034148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shingekinoboyfriends/pseuds/shingekinoboyfriends
Summary: Betty Cooper had always fantasized about going away to college, and the adventures that awaited her there. So why did she let her parents talk her into going to St. Josephine's Catholic College? Between cold suitemates and a disconnect from her peers, Betty isn't so sure she made the right decision. Luckily, the coffeehouse across campus is full of distractions...In which Jughead Jones is a barista with an inexplicable darkness - a boy whose entire world is so vastly different from the purity of Catholic school that Betty can't seem to pull herself away from him.





	1. daughter of the year

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everybody! I got the idea for this fic after reading some of the works by ficmuse on AO3 - her Bughead fic "Blue Spruce" was just so wonderful, it inspired me to get back to this pairing! It's been a while since I have written anything, so please bear with me as I trapeze back into the world of writing. :~)
> 
> There are pieces of canon in this, but it's so remixed that it's best to just think of this as an AU. (College AUs are just... my ultimate guilty pleasure! I couldn't reisist!)
> 
> Lastly, the title for this fic is a play on the Simon & Garfunkel song, "For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her." It's a song that is so dreamy and romantic, one that I completely associate with Betty and Juggie! You can listen to it [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-HQ2j-SGBZk)

College.

 

A time in any young person’s life where they finally get to spread their wings, try new things, live a life they choose without their parents’ permission.

 

Somehow, pulling up to Saint Josephine’s Catholic College in Buffalo was not exactly Betty’s idea of what the college experience should be. But, it _was_ her parents’ idea – so she couldn’t complain.

 

Betty was nothing if not dutiful and compliant. She was soft, kind, intelligent and painfully controlled, and she had made peace with it.

 

This is what she told herself.

 

 _Still,_ she thought, wide blue eyes staring through the backseat window at the tall, intimidating pillars situated before each campus building they passed, _this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind._

 

“It’s perfect,” her mother, Alice, breathed from the passenger seat. Her parents had promised they would accompany her on the first day to help move her into her dorm; promised, of course, meaning it was known that they _would_ be there, whether Betty necessarily wanted them to come or not. “Oh, Betty, it’s like a dream. This is where I always imagined you going – my bright girl.” She glanced over the seat to meet Betty’s eyes before reaching a hand back to pat her knee.

 

 _Mom’s bright girl,_ Betty thought, a surge of pride rising in her chest briefly before remembering how nervous she was to be here. How some inexplicable part of herself failed to connect to the lush, rolling landscape of the campus green, of the ten story buildings where the students were housed – architecture that felt more prison than palace.

 

“Ahh, I remember going to college,” Betty’s father, Hal, mused from the front seat, turning the wheel and rolling up to building 1452. “It was where your mother and I met.”

 

“I thought you guys met in high school,” Betty interjected, brows furrowing.

 

“Yeah, Hal,” Alice crowed, side-eyeing her husband. “I thought that’s where we met, too.”

 

Her father let out a big belly laugh as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “Well, that is true. But college is where we really got to know each other.”

 

“Oh, gross,” Betty joked. “TMI, Dad.”

 

“I didn’t mean it that way!” he shot back, head hitting the seat’s headrest as he let out another big laugh. “I only meant… you know. Maybe you’ll meet your future husband here! There are so many likeminded people here. You never know what’ll happen, Bets.”

 

“Your father is right,” Alice echoed, undoing her seatbelt and grabbing her luxury purse from the floor near her leopard print heels. “The boys here are nothing like the ones in Riverdale, Elizabeth. They’ve got good heads on their shoulders. They’re motivated!”

 

 _Motivated in regards to money,_ Betty thought, opening the door and taking her first step out onto the manicured campus lot. _But maybe they’re right. Maybe someone exists here, someone like me. Maybe… Maybe I’ll finally get to experience falling in love._

 

The concept of love was something Betty had never quite gotten right. She’d thought she’d been in love – once. Her next-door neighbor Archie had been the subject of so many of her journal entries. She recounted afternoons spent doodling his name with a heart encircling it, writing “Mrs. Betty Andrews” on secret pages of her school notebooks. Betty was in love with the idea of love, of the pure kind of love that made her feel like she had been blessed.

 

But there was also a side of her – a different side that she didn’t want to think about. A side she didn’t _let_ herself think about… Not unless she was alone.

 

Nevertheless, the kind of love she found herself pursuing was one that would make her parents proud. A kind of love that was, to put it simply, lovely. Love worked that way, Betty was certain of it. From the amount of films she’d seen – especially classics from the 50s and 60s, the Audrey Hepburns and the Cary Grants – Betty was sure that this love she so desired existed out there. It just hadn’t found her yet.

 

(Part of her was afraid somehow that love had skipped her. That love would _always_ skip her.)

 

It took an hour, but Betty, Alice, and Hal Cooper got her boxes and bins all removed from their van and placed in her dormitory on the building’s sixth floor. Had it been move-in day, Betty would have felt more at ease in this building. The bustling of other students would have given her a sense of excitement, a feeling of camaraderie and belonging. This is what she hoped for, anyway.

 

But, as it were, today was _not_ move-in day. Her father, being who he was, knew St. Josephine’s dean and was able to pull strings so she could get moved in a day early. “You’ll feel more comfortable this way,” Hal had assured her the night before. “Less people fighting to use the elevator. Less fuss.”

 

 _“Less fuss” might be an understatement,_ Betty thought uncomfortably, standing in the doorframe of her new, private living space without another sound in the building. The silence was deafening, and she looked down the hall as if to take in the vast emptiness slowly consuming her.

 

“We should get out of your way,” her mother said, standing in front of the closet mirror in her bedroom. She fluffed her hair, making sure that all the moving had not put too many blond hairs out of place. “You probably want to unpack, decorate the place. Or do you want our help, baby?” She poked her head out of the room and found Betty standing in the doorframe. “We can stay and help if you want. Do you want us to stay?”

 

“I can finish it up, Mom,” Betty assured her, putting on a smile and letting her tensed shoulders fall.

 

“She’s got it, Alice,” Hal reiterated, folding his arms. “She needs to make the place her own.”

 

“Well, if you insist,” Alice huffed, eyeing the wood paneling around each doorframe. “Gosh, this place is _so_ outdated. Maybe we should call the dean, get this fixed up for–”

 

 _“Mom,”_ Betty laughed. “It’s a dorm. Not a penthouse apartment.”

 

Her mother crossed the room and wrapped Betty in a tight hug. “I just worry about my girl,” she sighed softly over her shoulder. “I just want what’s best for you. You know that, Elizabeth?”

 

“I know, Mom,” Betty smiled.

 

“You are going to love it here,” Alice insisted, pulling away and holding her daughter at arm’s length. “Call me tonight. Let me know how it’s going. Okay?”

 

Betty nodded once affirmatively.

 

“We’re so proud of you, honey,” Hal said, his hand rubbing her upper arm. “You’re every bit the daughter of our dreams.”

 

“Sometimes it takes a few tries,” her mother laughed. “But you’ve exceeded our expectations in every way.”

 

Something in the air suddenly felt cold – or, maybe it was just Betty’s mind recognizing the connotation of that statement. It didn’t take long for her to realize that the “couple of tries” her mother referred to was, in fact, her older sister Polly.

 

They didn’t talk about Polly anymore.

 

But Betty remembered.

 

It had all gone up in flames.

 

Her parents left shortly after. Betty closed her door and waited by the window until she saw her parents’ car pull out of the parking lot. A sigh pulled itself from her chest, from her heart. She leaned her back flat against the wall and slid down it, staring at the sea of boxes in the small, empty dormitory.

 

This was _her_ space. Whether or not it was her dream to be _here,_ she was, and she was going to be happy about it. Because, as her parents iterated over and over again, this was her next step in pursuit of the award for Daughter of the Year. She hadn’t lost yet – and she didn’t intend to now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading the first chapter!! I would love to hear your thoughts so far - I hope to update again very soon!!


	2. jughead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so... I may have gone a bit overboard today. I just couldn't stop writing! Two chapters in one day is insane - normally I would just hold onto the chapter for another week, but I have no self-control... :9
> 
> Enjoi :~)

Betty fell backward onto her bed, a long burst of air pulling itself from her lungs as relaxation kicked the wind out of her. Finally, after so many countless hours, she had finished putting her things away, decorated, and spruced up the small dorm room to her liking. There were flowers (fake, as she could not keep a plant alive to save her life) and garlands, colorful banners, and even a flag that proudly proclaimed: “Go Vikings!”

 

Her parents assured her it was never too early to sport some school pride.

 

The twinkling string lights illuminated the room, which was darkening with her first dorm room sunset. The orange light had faded, and the burning of another day’s end was nearly gone.

 

 _Now what?_ Betty thought incredulously. A busy-body by nature, Betty Cooper had never been the kind of girl to watch Netflix and _relax._ She was always quite busy doing any number of things, as for the past many months she had been working towards _this._ College.

 

Now, here she was, ready for college ahead of schedule, just like she was with everything in her life: exceptionally early.

 

But when there is nothing left to plan, what is there left to do?

 

Betty sat up in bed, huffed, and swung her legs over the bed. She pulled her boots on, draped a scarf around her neck, pulled her jacket on and locked the dormitory, almost laughing as she did so. _With so many people here, anyone could break in!_ Against the uncertain feelings teeming in her mind all day, she couldn’t help but smile.

 

The old, tall wooden door of the dormitory closed behind her, leaving her outside on the front steps of building 1452, not sure exactly how to proceed.

 

 _I’ll explore,_ she decided, nodding to herself as she started down the steps and headed across campus, careful to follow the marked sidewalks.

 

The campus itself was unapologetically regal. Less rococo, more baroque; the Romanesque pillars and ornate detail of each roof and windowpane was awe-inspiring. Betty couldn’t deny that it was gorgeous – she tried to keep this in mind as she walked farther from her apartment building. This place was strange and different, and maybe it would grow on her.

 

(Never mind that Betty was one of the most no-fuss girls she knew. Girl-next-door, she was; fantastically dramatic, she was not.)

 

The campus was large, but after a half hour, she had casually walked from one end to the other. It was large enough to feel as though power existed here, but not too large. Betty had never felt confident in big cities. At heart, she was a small-town girl that loved eating at the counter of her hometown’s diner, chatting away with other guests and employees who she had known her whole life.

 

This place, while it wasn’t the biggest college to exist – not by a long shot – made Betty nervous. She felt more like a deer here, in this foreign world three hours north of Riverdale.

 

Which is perhaps why, after spotting a small coffeehouse a few blocks away from the rolling lawns of St. Josephine’s, she didn’t think twice about walking in the door.

 

The bells on the door handle clinked brightly, in contrast with the shadowed, moody atmosphere of this place. Outside, the red neon sign had read: “The Grind: Splitting Beans since 1967.” This place certainly did have all the charms of a small-town coffee shop. On each kraft paper-covered table was a small tea light candle, placed in front of a wooden basket with sugar and cream. Wooden walls, wooden floors, and fall wreathes hung on the walls… The whole place bustled with life, something Betty had not found yet to not exist here on this campus, in this new world she hadn’t yet married.

 

The sights and sounds and smells of this small coffee shop caused Betty to breathe a sigh of relief. This was something familiar. Something _safe._

 

She pulled her coin purse out of her jacket pocket and approached the counter. She clicked the balls open and grabbed her shiny new debit card from its clutch. Her eyes scanned the board for drink specials, lips parting slightly as she debated between one of the sugary lattes and a chai tea.

 

But when her eyes lowered from the sign, just when she thought she had made her choice, the words fell from her lips – her eyes locked on those of the barista behind the counter, who had already been standing there looking at her.

 

Her breath caught in her throat. The eyes she caught were green, clear. They belonged to a boy, tall in stature with broad shoulders that stretched the black t-shirt of his uniform. Three pens peeked from the cotton shirt pocket, with another one situated behind his ear. From beneath a gray knit cap, a curl of dark hair swept the side of his face.

 

“What can I get for you?” he asked, and it took Betty a moment to remember her order.

 

She sputtered. Internally, she cursed herself for being flustered. He was just a boy, after all. It wasn’t as though she had never come in contact with one in her life.

 

“I’ll have the chai tea latte,” she managed.

 

 _There you go, Coop,_ she thought to herself, internally wincing. _Less “fish-out-of-water,” more “confident college girl!”_

 

“What size?” he asked again.

 

“Large,” Betty replied quickly, hustling now that she knew to avert her eyes to the countertop, to the baguettes on the shelves, to the sweets behind the glass display. Her eyes must have roamed the entire store before once again landing upon the barista.

 

He certainly was attractive.

 

Betty wanted to eject herself from this universe as quickly as possible.

 

“Alright,” he started again, and her eyes landed on his lips. “That’ll be $4.12.”

 

Betty handed him the debit card and he swiped it casually – and then his eyes found hers again.

 

“You’re a bit early for the school rush,” he said coolly.

 

Betty’s mouth dropped open a fraction. “How do you know I’m here for school?”

 

The boy bit his lower lip to prevent a laugh. “You’ve got St. Josephine’s written all over your face. Plus, I mean... the high ponytail.”

 

Defensively, Betty reached up to grab her trademark ponytail. Her brow furrowed. “What’s so wrong with my ponytail?”

 

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong with it!” he responded quickly, laughing aloud now. He offered her card back, which she snatched out of his hands without hesitation. “Honestly, I’ve just never seen you in here before. And, if I’m not mistaken, move-in is tomorrow.”

 

 _I guess that’s a little better,_ Betty thought begrudgingly. “I just moved in today.”

 

The boy’s eyes narrowed, mentally processing her statement. He moved then, starting the process of crafting the perfect chai tea latte.

 

“How does that work?” he asked, looking up at her over the large metal machine. “This place is usually bananas on move-in day.”

 

“My father knows the dean,” she replied offhandedly. “My parents arranged for me to have an early move-in.”

 

“Can’t get rid of you fast enough, huh,” he joked, focusing his attention back on the task at hand.

 

Betty shrugged, closing her coin purse again and tucking it safely back in her pocket. “I think it’s less about them getting rid of me, and more about them wanting me to have more time to get acclimated to the campus.”

 

He nodded. “Guess it pays to know people in high places, huh.” He didn’t say it like a question, or like a joke. He said it like it was a fact, and something about it stung Betty for no apparent reason.

 

She went quiet then, and so did he. She watched her feet for a minute, picked at the nude nail polish on her fingers. And then, with a clink, a mug slid toward her from across the counter.

 

“Enjoy your coffee,” the boy said lightly, nodding once at her. He didn’t linger at the counter, though; instead, he threw the towel in his left hand over his shoulder and retreated to the back.

 

Betty watched his retreating figure for a moment, until he disappeared in the stock room. She sighed, looked down at the latte, and noticed how expertly two sticks of cinnamon balanced atop the drink’s fluffy white foam.

 

“Thank you,” she mouthed, picking up the coffee and taking a seat along the front window.

 

She shook her jacket off and tucked it over the back of the chair. Then, she grabbed the small handle of the mug, brought it to her lips, and inhaled the fresh aroma of cinnamon and ginger. It smelled heavenly, and took her back to the time she and Archie studied for four hours at The Riverdale Perk together. She’d drank more chai tea that day than she had ever thought possible in such a span of time.

 

Betty took a sip and pushed Archie from her mind. _Those days are behind you, Bets. He’s three states away. He’s out of the picture._

 

God, though. No Riverdale coffee had ever tasted like _this._ Betty’s eyes shut as the warmth and flavor shot through her. It was delicious.

 

For the next hour, she sipped her coffee and watched people passing through the window. The street outside was illuminated, cobblestone and classically lined with cast iron streetlights. People strode past, unaware of her as she watched them. Rarely did she see anyone walking alone; tonight, it would seem, was abound with couples. Two-by-two, they walked down the street, arm-in-arm and hand-in-hand.

 

One couple she watched paused to exchange a quick-pressed kiss beneath a streetlight. Betty’s heart ached.

 

The sound of someone coughing beside her shook her from her reverie. She glanced up, into the face of the barista who had served her the chai.

 

“Can I get you a refill?” he asked simply.

 

Betty’s eyebrows raised a bit. “I didn’t know you gave refills on specialty drinks.”

 

“We don’t usually,” the boy stated. “You just seemed impressively lonely and I felt bad.”

 

Immediately, she felt like kicking him – until she saw the smile curl at the corners of his mouth. _Teasing._

 

Betty sighed, then offered a small smile. “Sure. I would love another one – it was delicious.”

 

The boy, feigning touched, placed a hand daintily over his heart. “Oh, shucks.”

 

“Probably the most delicious chai latte I’ve had in my life,” Betty joked back.

 

“Oh, _stop_ it.”

 

Then, she couldn’t help it: she laughed. And, as she did, she saw the way his eyes changed. He seemed to observe her, a soft smile grazing his own lips.

 

Betty wondered what he was thinking.

 

“I’ll be back with your refill,” he said, grabbing the cup from the table and starting on another. Betty tried to get back to watching people out the window, but she realized her attention was suddenly stolen by the person inside. Something about him seemed… well, she couldn’t put her finger on it. There was something special about him, which had absolutely nothing to do with how handsome he was; the journalist in her objectively laid that information to the side.

 

In the end, she decided that, well, perhaps it didn’t matter. His was the first human interaction she’d had since moving to Buffalo. Betty decided that she needed to stop putting so much stock in the interactions of strangers – especially baristas.

 

When he came back with her second coffee, Betty almost made up an excuse to leave. She was pushing this – the part of her with a wild imagination, the curious side, needed balance. Checking herself from inventing too much in her head was exactly what she needed to do.

 

But then he sat down.

 

“What’s your name?” he questioned directly, scooting his chair toward him before resting both elbows on the tabletop and looking at her, straight across the table.

 

“Are… are you sure you can sit with me? While you’re at work?”

 

“I’m sure,” he grinned.

 

She took a breath. “Alright, then. It’s Betty.” Her eyes then trailed down to the boy’s nametag, something she hadn’t thought to check until this moment. “Jughead?”

 

“There are stranger names,” he responded simply.

 

“What does Jughead mean?”

 

The corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Well, what does ‘Betty’ mean?”

 

“It’s short for Elizabeth,” she said. “It means ‘oath of God.’”

 

“You’ll fit in great over at St. Josephine’s.”

 

Betty’s eyes rolled. “We’ll see.”

 

“You don’t think you’ll fit in?” he asked, leaning forward. “Why not?”

 

He seemed intrigued by her, and she wasn’t sure why. She studied his face for some ulterior motive, but found only curiosity, which she recognized in herself. Still, she couldn’t understand what was so interesting about her, what sparked such a curiosity; she was plain. Betty knew this. She was kind, and plain, and nothing about her was ever messy or out of place.

 

“I don’t know,” she started, “I guess… I just never felt like I fit in anywhere. This place is big – Riverdale is small.”

 

“Is that where you grew up?” the boy – Jughead – asked her. “Hometown?”

 

“Mhm. I’ve lived there all my life.”

 

“Tell me about it.”

 

“Why are you so interested in me?” Betty asked suddenly.

 

“Because you seem like an interesting person,” he responded sharply. “Does anyone need a real reason to talk to someone? You came in alone. I thought you could use some company.”

 

Betty didn’t know what to say. He was right. She _could_ use some company. And, if she was honest with herself, she could use more than just company – she could use a friend.

 

“I won’t know anyone here,” Betty admitted, and as the words left her lips, she wondered how she could open herself to this stranger without defense. “I’m… not great with change.”

 

“Give it a day. I’m sure it can’t be the shark pit of your imagination… Or, for all I know, it could be. I don’t mess with the people from St. Josephine’s. I’m not from that crowd.”

 

Part of Betty wanted to ask him why he didn’t associate with those from her college – and then she saw the tattoo on his arm.

 

At first, she thought it was just artwork, but then she recognized what it _really_ was. When she had told Archie where she was headed, he had warned her about a group – no, a gang – a unity of thugs that needed to be watched out for.

 

The Southside Serpents.

 

Jughead saw that she had seen it.

 

“I have my reasons,” was all the more he said.

 

Betty didn’t say anything for a moment. She just looked out the window, contemplating her next move – and then, in a hurry, she glanced down at her cup and picked it up, raising it to her lips and downing most of it in three long sips.

 

The cup hit the saucer with a heavy clink.

 

“Thank you for the coffee,” she said with a start, standing and pulling her jacket on.

 

Jughead’s eyes widened, and as she stood, so did he. “Can I walk you home?”

 

“I can manage on my own, thanks,” Betty replied shortly.

 

He paused, thinking hard for a moment before laughing, shaking his head and heading back to the counter. By now, the place had cleared out – it was nearly nine o’clock, and must be nearing closing time.

 

“Don’t worry about standing out,” he called, not turning back around to look at her. “You’ll fit _right_ in with the folks at St. Josephine’s.”

 

The worst part, was that Betty could tell his words were meant to insult her.

 

She decided right then that this boy, _Jughead,_ didn’t deserve another second of her time. In a rush of emotion, she turned on her heel and flung the front door to the coffee house open, striding out into the darkened, empty street.

 

* * *

 

 _Oh, the_ nerve _of that guy!_ Betty was positively seething by the time she arrived back to her dormitory, frustrated that she had let herself fall for the green eyes of some… snake charmer! It was completely against her morals. And, what’s more, the gall of him to assume that she was some _priss_ , just because she didn’t find it wise to chum it up with _gang_ members.

 

Betty climbed the stairs, rather than take the old elevator, and decided that physical activity would be a good way to take out her aggression. However, once she started climbing, she realized that all these stairs would do for her was make her sweaty and out of breath.

 

When she finally reached the top, she had to practically drag herself to her dormitory door. _I am so out of shape,_ she thought, sliding the key into the handle and jamming the knob sharply to the right.

 

And, just because no one was around to hear it, Betty slammed the door.

 

* * *

 

It was late. Awoken for no reason other than nerves, Betty found herself unable to fall back asleep. She tossed, turned, and messed up the entire bedspread atop her twin-sized mattress.

 

As is often the case when waking up at strange and unnatural hours, Betty’s mind began to turn back on. She thought about the stresses of meeting her suitemate, of starting classes in just a few short days.

 

And then, she thought of Jughead.

 

What about him had frustrated her that evening? Now, lying in bed with her mind halfway dialed on, she couldn’t remember what it was that had made her feel so strongly against him.

 

Her thoughts wandered over his face, and lost in these particles of memory, she imagined her fingertips tracing his smooth jawline. In her dazed state, Betty bit down onto her lower lip.

 

Dream turned to fantasy as the imaginary version of this strange boy took her hand. She watched as he pulled her to him, catching her by the mouth. His lips trailed from hers down to her neck, and she swore she could feel it as he slid one strong, calloused hand up her blouse.

 

Drenched in sweat, Betty shot up in bed.

 

That was _not_ something she _ever_ wanted to fantasize about. That opposition of her entire self – _lust_ – was wrong. Betty’s hands rose to her chest, and for no reason other than because she wanted to be sure she was safe, her hands grabbed her breasts.

 

 _Phew,_ she thought, _that was close._

 

Because these were absolutely _not_ the kind of dreams girls who go to Catholic colleges had. At least, that’s the way her upbringing had taught her to feel. Betty was proud, and strong, and her heart was warm – but no matter how she tried to fight it, she knew there was a bad seed inside of her. She knew, without a doubt, that there was a part of her that would someday give into the darkness.

 

She knew this, because as she laid back down to sleep, Betty slipped her underwear off and welcomed back the memory of her barista for just a few more minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	3. needle in the hay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well. Here we are again, with another installment of this guilty pleasure fic! A quick thank you so much to those who have said nice things in the comments or on Tumblr - hearing your kind words makes me want to keep writing ;v; So let's get back to it!!
> 
>  
> 
> [Oh and here's some fanart I made for my own fic because I'm trash LMAO](http://springroove.tumblr.com/post/168653967509/for-betty-cooper-whenever-i-may-find-her-a)
> 
>  
> 
> Carry on! :~)

The next morning, Betty awoke to the sound of someone laughing obnoxiously loud and dozens of heavy footsteps traveling down the hallway. Her eyes open slowly. _What time is it?_

 

The alarm clock on her bedside table read 8:04. She closed her eyes again and felt like she could probably sleep for another nine hours. But, that wasn’t the way the world worked. If it were, she’d never get anything done.

 

Betty sat up in bed and yawned with a big, wide stretch of her arms above her head. Then, rolling out of bed, she grabbed a fresh towel from out of her closet and took to the shower with her caddy.

 

 _This is without a doubt the least luxurious part of the whole place,_ Betty thought, standing naked in front of the shower with just a sheer plastic curtain as a division. The water wasn’t too warm, either; Betty wondered if she would get another shower that pleasantly burned her skin before she returned home in a few weeks. The thought of lukewarm showers until the foreseeable future was bleak.

 

It was just as Betty was rinsing the conditioner out of her hair that she heard the door to the bathroom opening from the other end. Betty’s heart jumped, and just as she was about to speak up to tell whom she assumed to be her new suitemate that she was taking a shower, the curtain pulled back.

 

Betty let out one sharp, shrill shriek.

 

Standing in front of her was a girl who stood a bit shorter than she did; the girl’s ruby lips were pursed, and her long crimson hair flowed evenly to her waist. On her feet were a pair of Louboutins.

 

“Oh my gosh,” Betty breathed, covering herself as best she could with her hands. “Do you _mind?”_

 

The girl smiled fakely before letting it slide from her lips in favor of a look of disdain.

 

“You must be Betty Cooper,” the girl said. “I’m Cheryl Blossom, of Blossom Maple Farms. My parents have a monopoly on New York’s maple syrup supply.” She unabashedly looked Betty up and down. “Pity. I thought my suitemate would have been more exciting.”

 

“Get out!” Betty screamed.

 

Cheryl rolled her eyes, and on her way back into her room, turned the water faucet on the sink to hot. Instantly, the lukewarm water Betty had been bathing in turned icy cold, and as she turned the shower faucet off, she tried to mentally process what exactly just happened.

 

Her back leaned against the old shower wall and her eyes slipped involuntarily shut.

 

 _Why_ did _this_ have to be her roommate?

 

* * *

 

The rest of the weekend, Betty kept her bedroom door locked, and whenever she used their conjoined bathroom, she made sure it was quick. She was going to avoid this _Cheryl Blossom of Blossom Maple Farms_ for as long as possible, and if she never saw her for the rest of the semester, well, that would be just fine with her.

 

On Monday morning, it was time. Her first class of her first semester of college – it was finally here. Betty spent extra time making sure her ponytail was perfectly pulled back, so that not a single bump could be seen. She ironed her sweater, and even ironed the starchy button down she’d paired beneath it. Everything about her had to be perfect. Her mother had always told her to put her best foot forward, and that started with your appearance.

 

Before she left her dormitory, she stopped to look at the framed photograph on top of her dresser. It was a picture of her on her first day of school, standing in the hall near her homeroom holding her older sister’s hand.

 

Betty touched her sister’s face in the frame. “Polly,” she murmured, and her heart ached. Still, the thought of her sister gave her strength on her first day. Betty was a brave girl – but sometimes, she needed the reassurance of her sister.

 

Even if Polly wasn’t here with her… the photo’s memory was enough.

 

* * *

 

Betty was, of course, early for her first class. She watched the students roll into the classroom, trying to guess what kind of people they were as they entered. She could tell that this place was a completely different environment from Riverdale; the kind of people who came in had the latest iPhones, brand new designer shoes and backpacks and watches… Betty wondered if her parents knew. And she wondered if they did, if they’d sent her anyway.

 

 _Just give it a chance,_ she urged herself, trying to ignore the way girls applied their lipstick in the back of the classroom and the boy she noticed wearing a _Make America Great Again_ baseball cap.

 

Her first class – English 100 – was relatively painless. Her second class was Anthropology 100, which didn’t start until 2:30, but seemed easy enough for a prerequisite. The workload of her first class seemed neither skimpy nor excessive, and the assignment given seemed at least relatively interesting.

 

The only problem was the social aspect. Betty found herself wishing Archie were there with her, so that they could make fun of all the unpleasantly spoiled students surrounding them. Instead, Betty just felt out of her element.

 

She ate lunch outside on the lawn. There was a breeze, but it wasn’t too cold and Betty was grateful for that.

 

There was another girl outside, too. She appeared to be just like the other students – except when Betty saw what she was reading, her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. _A Clockwork Orange._ The girl’s dark nails curled around the back pages of the book and Betty wondered if perhaps she’d misjudged her classmates.

 

Because, as taboo a book as it was, Betty had read it, too.

 

She decided to say hello. Polly would have, and so she did.

 

She picked up her lunch, strode across the lawn, until she was standing at the edge of this girl’s picnic blanket. Her porcelain skin contrasted with the black hat, black dress, and black shoes she wore, and it occurred to Betty that this girl might in fact be the most beautiful girl she had ever seen in real life.

 

She cleared her throat. “Um, excuse me.”

 

The girl immediately stopped reading and looked up at Betty.

 

“I noticed you eating alone, and… I also noticed your reading material.”

 

After a moment of silence, the girl smiled up at her, scooted to the left, and patted the empty spot on her red and black checkered picnic blanket.

 

“You like Anthony Burgess?” the girl asked her.

 

“I do,” Betty admitted, smiling. “I’ve never known anyone else who read him. I think he’s brilliant.”

 

“I’m Veronica,” the girl introduced herself, dog-earing the page and holding out a pretty, manicured hand to her. “I’m glad you share my sentiments.”

 

“I’m Betty.” She smiled back at the girl and took her hand. And, at once, she felt relieved that she had found something of a needle in a haystack.

 

Betty and Veronica talked for a long time, until Betty had to go to class. All the while, she found herself admiring this girl, whose style was vampy and who didn’t mind publicly reading _A Clockwork Orange_. A shattering of stereotypes. The defiant ones.

 

It started to get her thinking about things – and a small bud of guilt began to bloom in her stomach.

 

* * *

 

When she returned to her dorm that evening, she thought she heard something from down the hallway. As she approached her room, she was starting to realize: the sound was coming from Cheryl Blossom’s room.

 

She unlocked the door and opened it slowly. Peeking out from behind the door, she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary inside. However, as she pressed her ear against her bathroom door, she could hear it. Drilling.

 

Betty opened the door, half expecting to see the toilet removed from the ground as some janitor repaired a plumbing issue. This was not the case. The sound was closer, though; despite the terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach, she walked across the bathroom and knocked on the connecting door to Cheryl’s bedroom.

 

The door immediately swung open, revealing a clouded room covered in sawdust. _Is this actually allowed?_

 

There were three men, who somehow all fit inside her small dormitory. Then, standing behind the door, she saw Cheryl dressed in high-waisted red shorts, a tied up blouse and fashionably protective eyewear. On her feet were, of course, the Louboutins – sharp and black with a bright crimson underbelly.

 

“Cheryl, what are you doing?” Betty asked, mouth agape.

 

“Some renovations,” Cheryl stated, as though nothing Betty was currently seeing should have come as a surprise. “This place is fit for a commoner. I told Mommy and Daddy, and they insisted I start the remodeling as soon as possible. Of course I can’t blame them. I couldn’t stand living in this old, dusty room another minute.”

 

 _Mom mentioned remodeling my space when I first moved in,_ Betty thought, remembering her first day moving in to campus with her parents’ accompaniment. _Maybe this… is common here?_

 

“It’s going to be a loud couple of weeks,” Cheryl told her, smiling brightly in the way she did when she was ordering you to comply with her unreasonable behavior. “I’d suggest finding a new place to study.”

 

Betty was shocked. She could not believe what she was hearing – how could Cheryl do this? How could the school allow something like this to happen when the noise itself was a complete distraction to other students? Shaking her head, she turned around and went back to her room, closing the door and making sure to lock it good and tight.

 

This was not good.

 

* * *

 

Betty had homework already, and she fully intended on doing it, whether Cheryl was obnoxiously reconstructing her dorm room or not. Betty tried for an hour to get through the reading for her English class, but found the sound to be, well, a distraction. It was awful – not only the buzz saws and hand drills, but Cheryl’s shrill, commanding voice and the grunting of men shuffling around on the other side of her wall.

 

With a groan, Betty slammed her textbook shut and packed her laptop up, slid her tennis shoes on and took off for the library.

 

The library’s building was impressive, looming largely at the west end of campus. Large marble stairs led to a long veranda with seating and lined with mature greenery. The front doors were tall and heavy, and Betty pulled hard to open it. She walked up one of the curving staircases to the second floor where a single row of desks lined the balcony overlooking the first floor.

 

Betty took a seat at one of the desks and set up shop. On her laptop she started some preliminary research, and as she did she thought to herself, _This is much more relaxing than my loud dorm room._

However, it wasn’t long before Betty started to feel strange. The air in the building was cold – too cold, like they didn’t want you staying there too long. The quiet of the library suddenly was deafening, and the stillness of the building shook Betty. _It can’t be as bad as I’m making it out to be,_ Betty tried telling herself.

 

Then she heard the whispers.

 

A few tables down from her, a group of frat boys took a seat. She wouldn’t have thought anything else of it, but then she heard the words “Southside Serpents” and her hearing piqued.

 

“Fuck those guys,” one student hissed. “They come around St. Josephine’s, I’m gonna kick their asses.”

 

“Yeah. I told that one – Sweet Pea – if he wasn’t gonna sell me twenty grams of Jingle Jangle, then he could kiss $5K goodbye. Told me he didn’t sell it. I told him he was a goddamn liar.”

 

“What a fucking stupid piece of shit,” the first student whispered back.

 

“I have half a mind to go kick his ass right now. We could do it, and then just take the JJ.”

 

“He should have known if he wasn’t going to give us the product then there would be consequences.”

 

Betty couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She didn’t know who this “Sweet Pea” was, but she had heard tell of Jingle Jangle, a hallucinogenic drug that kids were marketing in high schools and at universities. It was highly addictive – and the rumor was that it came from the biker gangs near Buffalo.

 

Thinking back to the night at The Grind, she allowed herself to think about that boy for the first time since her dream. Jughead. She thought of his clear green eyes and the way he smiled, the way he made her laugh. She wondered if this person was capable of selling drugs – she wondered what else that gang had made him do.

 

Somehow, she couldn’t imagine him doing those things.

 

Maybe he was in a gang, and maybe he had done some seedy things, but by the same token, Betty knew that not everyone fit into a mold. For instance, why had she met Veronica, the Catholic school girl who wore black and read Anthony Burgess? Then there was the idea of the boys who went here – the idea her mother had generated in her head, of warm, intelligent boys who in reality spent their time trying to get drugs from street gangs. Perhaps her biggest question was, why had a gang member been working at a coffee shop at all?

 

 _He probably forgot all about you,_ Betty told herself. _He was just a boy who made excellent chai lattes and an overly-healthy curiosity. You should let it go._

 

But Betty had never been the type of person to let anything go.

 

* * *

 

_Alright, Cooper. If you’re going to do this, you’re going to do this with panache. March right in there, look him dead in the eyes, and tell it to him straight._

 

Betty stood against the brick wall outside the coffee shop, mentally giving herself a pep talk. She was going to tell that boy she was sorry, and she was going to do it now.

 

“Alright, here we go,” she breathed, then turned around and headed for the door of the shop. The tiny doorbells clinked the way they had the night before, and Betty could tell that this place was certainly going to be a busy spot during the school year; the place was even more packed than it had been her first time there, this time with mostly college kids. The students of St. Josephine’s certainly did have a way of taking anything and claiming it as their own. (Betty missed the understated buzz from the first night, before the students had arrived.)

 

Her eyes caught sight of the cashier, who was currently taking cash from a loud group of girls, when she realized it wasn’t him. _Maybe he’s in the back,_ she thought hopefully, albeit forcibly hopeful.

 

So she waited in line. It moved slowly, because all of the coffees and teas at The Grind were made by hand, and it seemed to her that they could use a few more employees. Regardless, Betty was patient, keeping her eyes peeled on the back. It had been twenty minutes before she reached the front of the line.

 

“Hi, what can I get for you?” the girl behind the counter asked. She had glasses and was shorter, stouter. Betty liked her braids.

 

“Um, I’m actually looking for someone. Is… Jughead working today?”

 

The girl’s smile went lopsided and her eyebrows pulled together. “No, I’m sorry he’s not.”

 

Betty’s heart sank. “Oh, well could you tell me when he’s scheduled to work next?”

 

“I’m afraid that’s against our policy,” she said sadly. “We’re not allowed to give that information out.”

 

“Oh,” Betty said, her voice soft as the nerves and excitement faded. She felt like a deflated balloon. “Well, thank you anyway.”

 

Just as she was about to turn around, a hand grabbed her shoulder. Betty jumped, spinning around, only to find herself face-to-face with the boy she’d been looking for; his hand still on her shoulder, he cracked a sideways smile.

 

“Betty,” he said softly, then looked up at the cashier. “It’s cool, Laura.”

 

The girl behind the register shook her head, smiling, then called forward the next customer.

 

Betty’s wide eyes returned back to Jughead, who motioned for her toward a table where a laptop sat beside four empty coffee cups.

 

“I saw you walk in,” he said simply, taking his place behind the laptop and shutting it closed. Betty took the seat across from him, still surprised to see him here at all. “Well, actually, I saw you standing outside for five minutes talking to yourself. But I didn’t think you’d appreciate me interrupting you.”

 

Betty’s face felt hot. She reached up to take off her scarf, and then she remembered she hadn’t worn one. This was a different kind of heat: embarrassment.

 

“Well, for your information,” Betty started, “I came back here today to see you.”

 

Jughead, from what Betty could tell, was always quick with a witty remark. At her words, the smart reply he might have retorted with fell flat, crumbling on his tongue before she saw his throat lob with a dry swallow.

 

“Why’d you want to see me?” he asked, and although he may not have realized it, his eyes glanced down at the tattoo on his arm.

 

Betty sighed. The weight in her chest was starting to burn. “I was wrong for leaving the other night.”

 

“Yeah, I thought it was rude that you didn’t finish your latte.”

 

 _He’s getting defensive,_ Betty thought.

 

“I saw your tattoo,” she admitted, and his eyes bulged.

 

“Straight to the point,” he noted.

 

She shook her head. “I was wrong to judge you. I don’t know you, and I don’t know anything about the… Southside Serpents. I was warned about them by a friend when I decided on St. Josephine’s. He said they were dangerous.”

 

Jughead scoffed, serious. “Your friend doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

 

“I know,” Betty said, looking him straight in the eye. “I don’t know anything about the Serpents either. So I shouldn’t judge them… And I shouldn’t have judged you, either.”

 

He paused a moment, leaning back in his chair. He didn’t look at her. “I’m proud of who I am,” he told her, his voice low. “And, look, I wasn’t trying to bother you yesterday. When I offered you a walk home, I wasn’t going to kidnap you, drag you back to our secret hideout and go all Ed Kemper on you.”

 

“For the record,” Betty said, and her heart beat very fast, “I didn’t think you would have. I just… saw your tattoo and got scared.” She paused. “Sometimes, people are afraid of things they don’t understand.”

 

Jughead sighed, ran a hand through his bangs looking deep in thought. Then, decidedly, he leaned forward.

 

“Betty,” he started, and then finally, he looked up at her. “Would you want to go get a pizza with me?”

 

Unable to hold herself back, Betty started laughing.

 

“Well, jeez. Okay,” Jughead said quickly, shaking his head and standing up. “I guess I misread _that_ situation.”

 

“No, no!” Betty cried, placing her hand over his and standing up quickly. “I only laughed because, well, I didn’t think you’d want to go with _me._ ”

 

Jughead stopped, processed her words. Then he began putting his laptop back into its bag. “It’s just as friends,” he stated. “I’m not trying anything funny, I swear.”

 

“No, I know,” she smiled. “And… yeah. I mean, _yes._ I would love that.”

 

Then, as Betty stood, his eyes found hers and a smile stretched his lips wide. It was somewhat of a dorky smile, one that a _cool guy gang member_ would never show; not Betty’s idea of one, anyway. The name “Southside Serpents” sounded like a group of dirty criminals, but the Jughead she saw in front of her didn’t seem like that kind of person at all… His heart was in the right place.

 

“I know a great spot a few blocks away. They make a _most excellent_ pie,” Jughead said, doing the Italian finger-kiss and tossing his cups in the garbage. He grabbed the door, opening it wide and holding it for her.

 

Betty smiled, shaking her head as she walked out the door and began walking side-by-side with Jughead, who was as intriguing as he was a gentleman. He kicked a rock down the sidewalk, and Betty let her eyes slip shut, listening to the sound of its echo.


	4. sealed with a kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that happened. 10K in 5 days. I'M IN BEAST MODE GUYS. I'M BOUTTA HULK OUT.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this chapter – it is _verrrry_ Bughead heavy! :~)
> 
> [Oh and have some more chapter art while you're at it!!](http://springroove.tumblr.com/post/168764706529/goodnight-betty-cooper-goodnight-jughead)

“Welcome to Wiseguys.”

 

The aroma drifting through the pizza parlor was, in a word, heavenly. Betty’s eyes closed briefly, inhaling the smells of vegetables and tomato sauce, of spices and cheeses and dough – and when she opened her eyes, she saw a round of that very dough being tossed high in the air through the kitchen.

 

The door closed behind them and Jughead unzipped his hoodie. For a restaurant, Betty was sure this place was one of the smallest she’d seen. There were only about twelve tables inside, and only a few were full.

 

“This place is a hidden gem in Buffalo,” Jughead told her as they walked to the front counter. “Most of the rich kids who go to your college don’t come here because it’s kind of a hole in the wall. But trust me – you won’t be disappointed.”

 

Betty wasn’t completely sure why, but she trusted his taste buds.

 

“What do you usually get on your pizza?”

 

“Pepperoni, banana peppers and pineapple.”

 

Jughead seemed touched. “A girl after my own heart,” he joked, pressing a hand to his chest. He then ordered a large from the guy at the counter and led the two to a seat in a corner booth near the window. Betty was glad he chose the window seat – she always enjoyed watching the world outside, and the sunset’s glow was coming quickly.

 

“So, Betty,” Jughead started. “Miss Elizabeth ‘Oath of God.’”

 

She rolled her eyes at him. “The last bit is just Cooper. Betty Cooper.”

 

“Betty Cooper,” he echoed. “Well, mine’s Jones. Jughead Jones… I feel like we should shake hands.”

 

Betty laughed, and took his extended hand in hers. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jughead Jones.”

 

He smiled a sideways smile back at her. “The pleasure’s all mine, Betty Cooper.”

 

Part of Betty wasn’t quite sure what she was doing here. She barely knew this boy; what she did know wasn’t much, but what she wished she knew was a laundry list long. Some part of her wondered if she should really be out on a school night with a boy she’d hardly met, and her mother’s nagging voice in her mind urged her to leave this place now if she knew what was good for her.

 

_Oh, if my mother could see me now,_ she thought hopelessly, eyes drifting out the window.

 

“So how are you liking the place so far?” Jughead asked, breaking the short moment of silence.

 

Betty’s gaze turned back to his, and she made a noncommittal hand gesture in the air. “I honestly don’t know yet.”

 

“Of course you know,” Jughead pressed. “You just don’t like your answer.”

 

“The classes are fine,” Betty defended. “It’s the whole… rest of it that I’m unsure of.” She looked back at him, as though seeing if he had something to say, but he sat looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to do the same.

 

She sighed, elaborating, “It’s just that, I don’t know if I fit in with the others. So far I’ve met two people I’d eat dinner with, and one of them is here now, doing that.” She could tell Jughead liked that. He crossed his arms, smiling that goofy smile again as he averted his eyes.

 

“Well, don’t give up,” he told her after a moment. “Don’t let anybody at St. Josephine’s fuck with your head – you’re doing great.”

 

Betty’s chest warmed. “It’s only the first day. Is it sad I needed a pep talk after just _one_ day?”

 

“Nobody’s success is measured in a straight line,” Jughead shrugged. “To be honest, I’m not sure I’d last a day there without someone straightening me out.”

 

“Where do you go?” Betty asked suddenly, leaning her elbows on the table, arms crossed over her chest as her hands draped over her shoulders. “When you’re not at the café, where do you go?”

 

Jughead smiled. “I don’t want to talk about me.”

 

“I do,” Betty insisted.

 

Again, Jughead ran a hand through his hair; Betty began to realize he did that when he was buying time to think.

 

“It’s not some glamorous answer,” Jughead told her. “I work part time at The Grind. The other part of the time I do freelance writing. And most nights, I end up at the Whyte Worm. Most Serpents do.”

 

“What’s the ‘Whyte Worm’?” Betty asked quizzically, eyebrows furrowing.

 

“Biker bar.”

 

Her eyes widened. “Oh. But, you’re not old enough to drink.”

 

“It’s mostly just a hangout spot for the crew,” he said, shaking his head as a smile toyed with the corners of his mouth. Betty watched him carefully as he began talking about the Southside Serpents, and she started to feel like this group of misfits was somewhat of an anomaly.

 

“It’s our safe haven,” Jughead went on. “It’s like, the place you can go to be with your people… without being judged by the rest of the town. Sometimes the bartenders have to sweep up some glass. Sometimes pool sticks get broken. Fights happen, Betty – but it’s the same as with anyone. You fight, and you get over it. No Serpent stands alone.”

 

Betty let out a shaky breath. “It sounds vicious.”

 

“Sometimes it is,” he said, looking down. He was smiling unabashedly now. “But at the end of the day, we’re all in it together. ‘In unity, there is strength.’ It’s our oath.”

 

Just then, a man came to their table and set the pizza down between them. It was bigger than Betty had expected, and she wondered how in the world the two of them would eat it all. Jughead thanked the man and lifted a slice, placing it onto a plate and sliding it across the table to Betty.

 

She smiled, blowing on the steaming pizza slice in front of her. “I wish I were more like you, Jughead.”

 

He quirked an eyebrow, blowing on his own slice before taking a huge bite. He winced – too hot. “Why’sh that?”

 

“You’re like an open book. You’re honest. You know yourself.” She sighed. “I wish I was as sure of myself as you are.”

 

“‘Open book?’” Jughead repeated, taking another huge bite. “I don’t think I’m all that open.”

 

“You’re proud,” she insisted.

 

“So are you.”

 

Betty rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. It’s like… you have a family.” Finally, she took a bite of the pizza. “Man. That _is_ good.”

 

“See, what’d I tell you,” Jughead grinned. “And, anyway, the Serpents _are_ like a family. But I’m sure _you’ve_ got a family, too.” He paused before finishing off the last bite of crust. “Tell me about the Coopers.”

 

“Oh, you definitely don’t want to open that can of worms.”

 

“Maybe I like worms.”

 

“I don’t. And I certainly don’t like cans of them.”

 

“Trust me, I can _handle_ a can of worms.”

 

Betty took another bite, sitting up straighter. “I’m not getting into it.”

 

“Fine,” Jughead sighed, grabbing another piece. “Maybe some other time.”

 

Part of her wanted to smile at him. He was persistent. She liked that – even if it _was_ acutely irritating.

 

* * *

 

After they finished their pizza, the two started back in the direction of The Grind. Jughead would kick a stone, and then Betty would kick it farther, and back and forth. Something about being with him cheered Betty up, though she couldn’t put her finger on why that was. Perhaps Jughead Jones was the most normal thing about moving here – despite the fact that he was a Southside Serpent, of course.

 

That was just a small detail Betty could pretend to ignore.

 

“So,” Betty started, swinging around the pole of a streetlamp like Gene Kelly from Singing in the Rain, “You never told me about the journalistic side of you.”

 

“Oh, I didn’t… Well, I guess it’s the whole reason I’m working at The Grind,” Jughead said, bringing a hand to the back of his neck. His fingers played with the tag of his hoodie. “My dream when I was little was to be a journalist for _The New Yorker._ I’ve always loved writing… Since then I’ve kind of wised up. Made my dreams smaller.”

 

Betty had half a mind to tell him that yes he _could_ be a journalist for _The New Yorker,_ but she pushed those feelings down out of curiosity regarding other statements. “What’s that got to do with you being a barista?” she asked instead.

 

“Well, you know Laura?” Jughead started, shoving his hands in his pockets as they came upon the coffee shop. “She was the cashier from earlier. Anyway, she’s actually the editor-in-chief of the local literary arts magazine. I’ve been getting some of my work published there.”

 

“Hmm,” Betty thought aloud. “Journalism in a literary arts magazine?”

 

“Nah,” he laughed. “Some of it’s poetry. Some of it’s prose. And, when I’m lucky, I can sometimes manage to sneak a few controversial opinions in there via lyrical essay. I took the job hoping that knowing Laura and getting my work published might open a few doors down the line.”

 

A flower in Betty’s chest bloomed. “Well, I’d love to read your work sometime,” she said, smiling softly. “I’m majoring in journalism.”

 

It was just as they had reached the door to The Grind that Jughead stopped in his tracks. “Wait, _you’re_ a journalist, too?”

  
“Well, not yet. Today was my first day of college, remember?” She knocked her knuckles against his skull cap, and he leaned away from her, smirking.

 

“Yeah, yeah…”

 

Then, it was suddenly as if neither of them knew what else to say. They’d eaten their pizza, and they’d made it back to the coffee house – but now what? Betty wondered if she should quickly say goodbye, if this was her cue to head back to the dorm and finish the homework she’d left from earlier (assuming Cheryl’s construction had ended for the evening).

 

She started to open her mouth, but when she did, she looked up and saw the expression on Jughead’s face. His eyes, clear yet somehow guarded, and his lips parted as though about to say the exact words on her own tongue – this image of Jughead suddenly sparked something in Betty that she hadn’t realized could be lit.

 

“Will you walk me home?” she asked him.

 

His parted lips closed, and after a moment, he smiled. “Of course.”

 

And so they walked together a little further. Now, they didn’t feel the need to stand so far apart. Sometimes, the sleeve of Jughead’s hoodie would brush Betty’s arm, and she would shiver.

 

“Are you cold?” he asked her. “It’s been getting cold at night.”

 

“I’m fine,” she replied, and he didn’t push it.

 

He whistled low. “Your campus sure is pretty at night.” There weren’t many students out; in the distance, she heard boys at the basketball court, and every so often they would pass a stranger or two, but for most of their walk it was just the stars and each other.

 

“The dorms aren’t anything spectacular,” Betty promised, and thought to herself, _Maybe I’ll show you sometime._

 

“Do you at least have the place to yourself?” he asked.

 

Instinctively, Betty let out an ugly groan. “Don’t remind me.”

 

“Bad roommate, huh,” he laughed.

 

“Suitemate,” she corrected. “We just share a bathroom, and somehow she’s already managed to make my life a living hell.”

 

“Let me guess: five feet tall, overtly gorgeous to the point she throws it in your face – and she’s got a Pomeranian with a diamond collar.”

 

“Well, she’s a little taller than five feet,” Betty said thoughtfully, tapping her finger on her chin as she did so, “and I’m not totally sure about the Pomeranian. But, she is small and beautiful and terrifying. And she’s also renovating the interior of her dorm room which is probably the worst of it all.”

 

“You’re serious?”

 

“Serious as a heart attack.” Betty leaned her head back and groaned again, this time at the stars. “The next few weeks of studying is going to be the _worst._ ”

 

“So don’t study at your dorm,” Jughead grinned, kicking her leg with his foot. “Come to The Grind after class. There’s a chai latte with your name on it.”

 

Looking up at him, Betty’s eyes lit with disbelief. He wasn’t looking at her. In fact, he was looking everywhere _but_ at her.

 

“I don’t want to impose,” she tried. “Or distract you.”

 

“You won’t,” he said definitively. Betty waited for him to retract that statement, or to redact his offer – but he didn’t. He just kept walking, smiling his small smile and watching his untied sneakers.

 

Betty, inevitably, conceded.

 

“Alright. I’ll come.”

 

(Not that she needed much convincing.)

 

Jughead then lifted his head, shifted his gaze to meet hers, then looked away again. “Tomorrow, then.”

 

Betty found herself cheesing. “It’s a date.” Just as the words left her lips, she realized – they’d just passed her building.

 

“Sorry,” she apologized as they walked back, “I didn’t realize how far we’d gone.”

 

“No worries,” Jughead told her honestly. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

 

“Are you heading to the Whyte Worm after you see me in?”

 

“I might.”

 

Betty wondered what he did there. What it was like in this so-called biker bar. She wondered if Jughead smoked, if he played pool, if he occasionally took shots and kissed strange girls there. She wondered if the place had a jukebox, and if Jughead had ever played a song and danced to it; she had always secretly wanted to do that herself.

 

She also wondered where he went after leaving the Whyte Worm. She wondered where his home was – but something in her told her not to ask.

 

There was something about Jughead – for as kind and sarcastic and funny as he was, there was a strange darkness to him, too. There were so many questions Betty wanted to ask him, but was afraid that she would not like the answers.

 

“Well, this is my stop,” she said as they reached the stairs to her building. She started up them, then turned around after climbing a few. She paused.

 

He held a hand out to her, which she tentatively gave him.

 

And he kissed it.

 

“Good night, Betty Cooper,” he said.

 

“Goodnight, Jughead Jones,” she echoed.

 

Jughead then watched her as she opened the door and went inside.

 

As soon as the door shut, Betty stopped, leaned her back against it, and began to process what had just happened. _Her hand._ She looked at it, looked at her knuckles and the place his lips had been just moments before. Her heart was racing. She looked back down at her hand, then off into the distance…

 

And then, all at once, she ran down the hall, swung around the staircase bannister, and ran up all six flights. She was too happy to take the elevator.

 

Tonight had been a magical night. Objectively, it had just been a string of circumstances that led to pizza and conversation, but Betty knew it was more than that.

 

Jughead’s friendship excited her – _he_ excited her. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she was truly connecting; this was something she often feared she failed to do, as she had never had many friends and had repressed so many things in her life.

 

She was glad that Jughead Jones was something she had not screwed up.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Betty awoke to the sound of a hammer banging against the wall next to her head – but somehow, she wasn’t so mad about it.

 

She could almost taste the chai tea on her lips.

 

Betty got up, grabbed her shower caddy from the closet, and headed into the bathroom with it. She couldn’t wait to go to her next set of classes, and a shower was just what she needed to ease her morning grogginess.

 

But, taped to the wall next to the shower, there was a different wake-up call waiting for her.

 

It was signed with a kiss in red lipstick.

 

_“That was the last time you bring a Southside Serpent to St. Josephine's.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *eye emoji* The drama! Let me know whatcha think! <3


	5. the spare room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!! Just wanted to say a quick thank you again for saying so many nice things on the last chapter! I'm working on the next one already so it should be up soon-ish :~) Read on!

Veronica found Betty on the campus lawn that Tuesday after morning classes. Betty had just pulled out her sandwich and clementine when Veronica sat down.

 

“Let’s get lunch,” she told Betty, placing a hand on her sandwich bag.

 

“I didn’t really want this, anyway,” Betty said, and found herself smiling.

 

They found a place to sit on the second floor of the college’s central building, where a cafeteria and grill were located. Sitting with Veronica was like a breath of fresh air; she didn’t try and talk about religion, or Donald Trump, or shove unsavory opinions in Betty’s face. Instead, they talked about books and movies, funny Vine compilations they’d seen and how the fall of its platform might have marked the downfall of America.

 

And, of course, they talked about love.

 

“It’s just so hard to find a boy at our age who really _gets_ us, you know?” Veronica asked rhetorically. “It’s like, none of them are at our _level_ yet. And like, I just wonder… are they ever going to get there?”

 

Betty leaned back in her chair, sighing. “I don’t know Veronica. Haven’t you ever been in love?”

 

“Well, of _course_ I have, Betty,” she responded, her tone sounding as though she were reasoning with a child. “I am a woman, after all. I’ve seen the birds and the bees up close though, and after that it just always seems to go downhill.”

 

Betty tried not to look so surprised, but Veronica saw right through her. She began to laugh, folding her fingers and leaning forward at the table. “Oh, Betty. Don’t tell me… you’ve never…?”

 

Betty pursed her lips. “I can’t be… that obvious.”

 

“Well, now that you mention it, I think you might be more obvious than R. Kelly was when he got trapped in that closet,” she told her gently.

 

 _Of course I am,_ Betty thought sullenly. _I should get an award for World’s Biggest Baby._

 

“It’s sweet though,” Veronica assured her. Her hand covered Betty’s, the touch gentle. “You’ll meet someone someday that you can share that with.”

 

Betty sighed again. She didn’t want to think about sex. The thought of doing it made her feel shame; exposing herself to someone else, especially before marriage, was disgraceful and unchristian. Her parents both believed this – to a painful degree.

 

“Anyway, have you met any guys yet? I feel like our selection has been considerably lacking so far…”

 

“Well, there is one,” Betty said, and couldn’t fight the smile as it tugged at the corners of her lips.

 

Veronica’s eyes shot open wide and she playfully hit Betty on the arm. “You dog! You didn’t tell me about this – who is he?”

 

“He doesn’t go here,” Betty said, taking a sip from her water bottle.

 

“Yeah right.”

 

“Honestly, he doesn’t. He works at The Grind though – I met him the day I moved in.” Betty paused, and remembering the night before, her fingertips grazed the knuckles of the hand his lips had touched.

 

“What’s his name?” Veronica pressed, excited. “I need details.”

 

“Jughead.”

 

“‘Jughead’?” She wrinkled her nose. “What kind of a name is that?”

 

“His.”

 

“Oh, you are in deep girl.”

 

Betty rolled her eyes, grabbing her bag and pretending to leaf around through its contents in effort to distract herself. “He’s just a friend,” Betty told her honestly. _A friend that I might have masturbated to once, but that’s beside the point._

 

“Fat chance it’ll stay that way,” Veronica stated simply. “With male friendships, it always ends in kissing, then fucking, then breaking up. Usually in that order. It’s like, inevitable.”

 

“Well, I have only had one male friendship in my life,” Betty started, and in her mind, she saw a head of red hair. “But that friendship never ended that way.”

 

Veronica shrugged. “Probably because you weren’t honest.” She looked up at Betty, and Betty didn’t say anything. “You probably had the hots for him and never told him.”

 

Betty bit her lip.

 

“Am I right? Damn! I _am_ good.”

 

“Well, don’t worry about it,” Betty said, and her voice felt small as she leaned forward, folded her arms across the table and laid her head upon them. “It can’t happen, so it won’t. Even if we weren’t just friends.”

 

“I’m ignoring the last bit.” Veronica paused, and her eyes flashed upward, then darted back and forth. Thinking. “So… you’re saying it _can’t_ happen. And I’m wondering… why?”

 

“It’s not that difficult, it’s just… my parents would never allow it.”

 

“And you’re going to let them make your decisions for you?”

 

“I’ve seen what happens when you don’t.” Something in Betty’s chest fell, defeated. She didn’t want to talk about this anymore.

 

Veronica hummed thoughtfully. “It can’t be really all that bad. It’s not like he’s a Southside Serpent, or something.”

 

Just then, Betty very nearly choked on her own spit.

 

Again, Veronica stopped; her eyes went huge, and she slammed both hands flat on the tabletop with a loud _whack._ “Betty. Freaking. Cooper. Are you _insane?”_

 

“It’s not such a big deal,” Betty tried assuring her. “He’s totally normal. Sweet, funny. He’s not like you think.”

 

“You know what I think?” Veronica said. “I think I’ve heard enough about the Serpents that I wouldn’t go sticking my nose in any of that. I’d like to think of myself as a pretty free-thinker, but honestly… Betty, you could get hurt.”

 

Betty felt numb to Veronica’s statements; none of what she was saying was sticking to her. “I won’t get hurt,” she replied lamely.

 

“Listen, Betty,” and as she said this, Veronica’s voice lowered. “Have you heard that the Southside Serpents are dealing Jingle Jangle? Just by hanging around with this… Jughead… You could be putting yourself in danger on that front.”

 

“Jughead doesn’t sell drugs,” Betty said. In truth, this wasn’t something she knew for certain, but more of something she felt in her gut.

 

“I don’t know. All I’m saying is that you’d better watch out. God, I feel like your mother… I’m just trying to be a good friend.”

 

“I know,” Betty told her, feeling disappointed. _You know you should stay away,_ she told herself, _and you know what will happen if you don’t._

 

She sighed, then got up from the table. She didn’t see a point in talking more about Jughead, or opening up about Cheryl’s cruel note.

 

“I’m sorry… Did I upset you?” Veronica looked genuinely concerned.

 

“No, it’s not you. I think I just need to go lie down for a while.”

 

Veronica sighed. “Alright. See you later, alligator.”

 

“After ‘while, crocodile,” Betty replied, trying to give a small smile.

 

Betty left the campus center and headed back to her dorm, where it seemed to have quieted down for a little while. She threw herself onto her bed, let out a long, sad sigh, and picked up her phone. The numbers were on the screen before she even had to think – a number that had been ingrained in her since she was little, a number that had never changed.

 

The phone rang twice, then her father’s voice came: “Cooper residence.”

 

“Hey, Dad,” Betty greeted him.

 

“Aw, Betty!” he exclaimed, and she could almost see him grinning. She heard the sound of a chair being pulled out, and she imagined him sitting down at the kitchen table. “How’s the first couple days treating you?”

 

“Fine,” Betty said, trying to think of something to offer him instead of the multitude of thoughts currently swirling around in her head. “Classes are good. I’m thinking of signing up for the school newspaper.”

 

“Well, that is exciting! See, you’re already on your way,” he chuckled. “I know you’re going to do great there.” Just then, another voice sounded in the distance – her mother. Betty could practically hear her asking her husband for the phone.

 

“Oh, your mom wants to talk to you,” Hal said. “Talk to you soon, kiddo.”

 

“Yep,” Betty said simply. “Talk to you soon, Dad.”

 

And then, her mother was at the phone. “Betty! How are you, how’s it going? Do you like your classes so far? Tell me everything.”

 

Betty found herself laughing, and practically repeating herself all over again. This time adding: “I’ve made a few friends, too.”

 

“Oh, I’m so proud of you, baby,” her mother cooed. “You know, somehow I just _knew_ that St. Josephine’s would be a perfect fit for you.”

 

Betty wasn’t exactly sure how true that statement was, but she wasn’t going to say anything about it, either.

 

“You know, honey, I can’t wait for you to come home in a few weeks,” Alice went on. “Your father and I have finally decided to do something with the spare bedroom. It’s going to be another study! So that when you come home on the weekends, you’ll have a place to do homework if you need to. We’ll have it designed with all the things you love – light, girly colors. I’m thinking pom poms…”

 

Betty tuned out.

 

It wasn’t a spare room… That was _Polly’s_ room.

 

Betty thought of the times she and her sister and played Barbie dolls; growing up trying out French braiding on one another until Polly finally figured it out and was able to teach Betty how it was done; the time they had spilled nail polish all over Polly’s carpeting so they took one of her rugs and laid it over the spot. Their mother hadn’t found out about it for years.

 

Now, all of these memories were being effectively cut out of their history. Betty’s parents had no room for memories when their hearts had already removed her.

 

“…so you’ll have to make a few of the calls on furniture when you get home so we can start getting things ordered.”

 

“Mom… don’t you miss Polly?”

 

There was a silence; suddenly, her long-winded mother had no words to give. Betty knew she shouldn’t have even asked; why ask when you already know the answer?

 

“Betty,” her mother finally sighed, “what your sister put our family through… It was unforgivable. She took every last bit of trust I had for her and ran it through the wringer.”

 

It was Betty’s turn for silence now.

 

“I can’t believe, that even after all this time, you don’t feel the same,” Alice said sadly.

 

Something surged in her chest then, and her grip on the phone in her hand tightened. Before she knew it, the words were coming out. “She wasn’t trying to betray you, Mom. She was just–”

 

“‘Just,’ what?” Alice cut in. “Just acting out, just acting like a child? This conversation is over, Betty. You know her actions were unacceptable, Betty; don’t ask me to continue justifying what we did.”

 

“Okay,” she conceded. Her tone felt flat, emotionless. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

 

The conversation ended soon after that, and once it had, Betty curled onto her side and held the phone against her chest. Her heart hurt. Her mind was a mess. There were so many things she had wanted to say, so many things she felt Polly was unable to tell them before she was forced out.

 

 _She was just following her heart,_ Betty thought sadly.

 

* * *

 

After the conversations with her mother, and with Veronica, Betty couldn’t help it. She thought about Jughead, and she wondered if they were right. If he was inherently dangerous, no matter what kind of person he was; if he would inevitably lead her down a path that she couldn’t take, out of fear that she would suffer the same fate as Polly had.

 

There was a dull ache in her chest when she thought of the way Jughead’s eyes crinkled when he smiled.

 

She thought and thought and thought, until she couldn’t think anymore. She sat up in bed, checked the clock on her phone (7:45) and knew that the decisions she made would determine who she was. She would not be careless. She would be confident, and collected, and… and she could keep any kind of company she wanted as long as it was on her terms.

 

In the end, nothing could keep her from returning to the coffee shop.

 

As soon as the door swung closed behind her, she saw him come out of the back, a big bag of espresso beans in his arms.

 

He saw her, too.

 

She walked up to the counter, adjusting the laptop bag on her shoulder and straightening her shoulders. “I’ve come for my chai latte,” Betty said, trying her best to keep a straight face.

 

Jughead tilted his head to the side, setting the espresso bean bag down and walking toward where she stood. “I honestly didn’t know if you would come.” Then, as though involuntarily, he grinned.

 

Betty’s façade fell, and her chest deflated. She smiled back.

 

“One chai latte, coming up.” Jughead grabbed a wide ceramic cup from the stack and turned to the machine. “I’ll bring it out to you.”

 

She thanked him and headed back to her usual seat, against the window in the corner. She got her laptop out of her bag and started booting it up. By the time she had it turned on and a document she was reviewing pulled up, she saw Jughead heading toward her. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the way he balanced the hot drink in the palm of his hand like there was nothing to it. Betty could be clumsy, and was positive she would have spilt it all over herself.

 

Jughead set the saucer on the table and folded his arms. “You seem different today,” he stated, feeling the situation.

 

“Today wasn’t great,” Betty admitted.

 

This prompted Jughead to drop a knee, leaning his elbows on the table at her eye level. “Trouble in paradise?” he asked.

 

“I had to have some hard conversations,” she told him finally, “but I don’t want to bother you with my problems, especially while you’re at work. Just being here is enough.”

 

“Maybe we can talk about it after I get off,” he offered. “I’m out at ten, and have been told I’m an excellent ear.”

 

Part of her – an extremely large and intensely motivated part – wanted to say yes. But, there was the other part of her that knew ten o’clock would lead to a late night, and she had classes in the morning. Besides – how could she tell him that half of the problem revolved around _him?_

 

“I’ve… got to get back before then,” Betty said. “Maybe another night.”

 

Something told her that her answer had disappointed him.

 

“Well, get cracking on your studies. Time’s a-wastin’.” He nudged her arm with his pointer finger knuckle. “Come back tomorrow if you feel like it. I’ll be around.” Then he stood, and ran a hand through his bangs. “If you want, anyway.”

 

“Thank you, Jughead – I appreciate it.”

 

He nodded once, then turned around and headed to the back once again. She watched as he left; just as he disappeared in the back, she brought two fingers to her lips.

 

His name tasted good in her mouth.

 

And there was not a doubt in her mind that she would be back tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh betty... ur into him, sis


End file.
